


Match-Maker

by ColdWarSaint



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AU Hetalia, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Complete, FACE Family, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, NA bros, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, cute dates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 02:14:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19241755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColdWarSaint/pseuds/ColdWarSaint
Summary: Hetalia AU/ Arranged marriage Prucan:The wealthy Francis Bonnefey likes getting what he wants, and what he wants now is to set up his favorite son with the "perfect" match. No matter how unwilling that son is.Poor, darling Matthew, forced into an arranged marriage built on lies for the sake of saving his baby brother from the same fate now has to face the man his father has picked out. Will Gilbert be everything that his father promised him? Could it be that someone will finally stop ignoring him and his wishes?(Yes! This is a falling in love fic.)





	1. Wedding Bells Chime, Ominously

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mattie- the love of my life](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Mattie-+the+love+of+my+life).



I sit on my bed, tracing the delicate blue veins just under that translucent layer of flesh with the edge of my razor. You know… I would do it Let my blood run down my arm and onto the carpet. I would. I’m not going to, however, and not for the sake of Papa. Certainly not for Arthur. No. I would never actually do it because I can clearly imagine the confused look on my baby brother’s face. I can imagine the way those sky-blue eyes would fill with tears. What I can’t imagine is being the cause of his pain… 

So, I always put away the blade. No matter how strong the temptation is to use it. And today? Well, today I found out about my arranged marriage. And the temptation is very strong. 

See, my Papa, Francis Bonnefoy— you may know that name— is a man who clawed his way into privilege and cemented it by marrying a real man of privilege. He enjoys social climbing and expensive wines. He enjoys the fact that he can hand-pick his adopted children: the ridiculously pale thing from Canada and the beautiful dark-skinned baby from America. The rules don’t apply to Papa. 

So, he’s a rather shallow man who can seem not so bright, and sometimes I think I hate him. Not in the moments when he kisses my forehead, or teaches me to cook a new dish, or calls me his darling angel; but when he seems to value wealth over humanity, when he romanticizes love to the point where it’s not love anymore, and—more than anything—when he loves  _ Arthur _ more than he cares for me. 

Have I mentioned Arthur yet? I refuse to recognize that man as a father. Perhaps, one day, he will treat me as a son and then I will be able to treat him as a father. As for now, he has never bothered to remember my birthday. Not one time. Maybe because I was adopted before Francis ever married him? The only thing I can respect about him is how much he loves Alfred. At least—

“Mattie!! Mattie!! MATTIE!! MATTIEEEE!!”

Well, speak of the devil, my much too energetic little brother bursts into the room. 

“You didn’t tell me you were getting married!!” 

I sigh internally as he sits down beside me hard enough to bounce me. 

“I didn’t know either Al. Otherwise, you would have been the first to know.”

He cocks his head. “You… didn’t know? How could you not know something like that?” 

And here I am faced with an important choice: do I tell him the truth or placate him with a lie? 

“Well, it’s an arranged marriage.” I decide to start with some truth. 

“Really? Dad didn’t make it sound that way. I knew that him and Papa wanted to do that kinda thing but then they really did?” He thinks about that for a hot second. “And can’t you just say no?”

That is the issue, Al. They’ve been planning this marriage for years, I knew that much. What I didn’t know was that they’d really go through with it after some of the fights that we’d had. 

“I… wouldn’t say no, Al. Because I’m okay with it.” I have a hard time not spitting these words. “It’s why Arthur was so… so calm.”

“But  _ I’d _ complain.” Alfred is giving me such a look. 

And I know he’d complain, that’s why I’m doing this at all. I was ready to leave this “family” over getting married without a choice until they pulled Alfred into it. It was something that shocked me at first. Alfred was Arthur’s hand-picked baby boy: such a pretty baby with those blue eyes against his dark skin. He had named Alfred after his favorite king, from the start he adored the child like no other. But Francis wanted an arranged marriage. Francis wanted to play matchmaker with my life. Francis was wealthy enough to secure a future for his son, regardless of choice. Faced with this argument of prosperity, future, and his husband’s all-important happiness… well, I guess some things are just more important than family. 

“I’m not complaining because I want to do this.” I wish I could be half the actor I know Alfred is. I’ve always had a hard time lying, though, which might have even been a problem living with a parent I hate had he paid me any attention. 

“Are you sure?” Alfred can tell I’m upset. “You just seem super tense about it.”

“I am…” Oh, boy. “I’m nervous. Getting married is nerve-wracking. It’s stressful when you know the person for years. And it’s  _ really _ stressful when you don’t know them  _ at all. _ ” I have to stop before my voice cracks. 

“Hey, hey, bro.” Alfred scoots closer. “I can talk to Dad and Papa. I’ll argue with them for you.” 

“I know you would, Al. But don’t. I  _ do _ want this. I’m… I’m nervous and a little scared, that’s all.” I need to get myself together. I’ve always protected Alfred, I need to remember that. He can’t see me like this. I’m not going to cry in front of him because his happiness is what I’m staking my future on. 

“Okay.” Alfred says, doubtfully. “But if this guy hurts you or upsets you at all I’ll kill him.”

I appreciate his lack of a gay joke. He must be taking this very seriously. I can tell he cares, if he’s being sensitive. 

“Of course…”

“And,” he adds, “you can always get a divorce!”

Maybe not until you’re married to whoever it is you love and they can’t cut you off for my disobedience. “I know.”

“Are you even a little bit excited?” Alfred is worried about me. I don’t want that.

“Yup.” A weak smile.

“Then… that’s good, right?” He returns my smile with force and fiercely hugs me. 

For that moment, I let him comfort me, and I close my eyes. I pretend that I really meant what I said. I pretend that there isn’t a razor under my mattress. 

“Right…” 

 

♥♥♥♥

 

“Bonjour, mon petit chou. Ca va?” Papa greets me as he saunters into the kitchen. 

I give him a brief look before responding in pointed English. “I’m fine.”

Papa frowns, but tries again. “Que cuisines-tu?” 

Not going to play the everything-is-fine game today Papa. We don’t get to be cute. We don’t get to have normal. 

“Is there something you need, Papa?” 

In the long silence before he responds to that question, I slide my just-prepared cake pan into he oven and close the door, leaning back against the warm glass.

“I… had a suit in mind. For your wedding.” Francis hesitantly begins in English. “I think you’ll love the colour.” 

I cross my arms over the pink floral apron that Alfred bought me for my birthday a few years back (off-red, he called it, as though I would care.) 

“But, Papa, you don’t need to worry a thing about what I’m going to be wearing because I already took care of that.”

I can  _ hear _ his heart break. I smile slightly. 

“You...” He blinks. “But…” He finds a chair and sits down. “What, ah, what colour is it?” 

“Black.” I respond without hesitation. 

Papa recoils as though he’s been shot. “But, but, but— _ entirely _ ? I mean— “

“What, Papa? It’s just a suit. I got it off the rack, from Men’s Warehouse.”

“Oh…” Papa swallows hard. 

My eyebrow goes up. Papa reaches across the table and takes a drink of my cooking wine. The other eyebrow goes up. There is a long stretch of silence. I break it first this time.

“I’m sorry, is this sudden? Are you surprised? Do you wish that I had considered your feelings? Well, then you should be glad it’s only a suit, and not something that could be considered a major, life-altering, event.” 

Papa rubs his eyes. “Oh, mon dieu…”

“And what are you going to do about it? Threaten to buy Alfred a new suit if I don’t wear what you picked out?” 

At this, Papa stands up. “Matthew! Love, please. It is not so bad… this man is a good friend of mine. It is only a small age gap, as well, less than 10 years. He is a very attractive man. He will suit you, I promise this. I know you, love, better than anyone. I am not cruel. I am quite the opposite, arranging for you a perfect match! If only you would just look at his photographs, perhaps speak with him, then you could see this…” 

“See what? It’s not going to make any difference to the choice that I didn’t make.” 

“You could only be married once in a lifetime, love, you should—” He tries to reach out to me.

“I’d rather not get married at all!” I snap. My voice never gets above a certain volume, but he falls silent. 

This time neither of us break first. Before we can, Arthur enters the room. 

“Good morning, have either of you seen my teas?” He seems oblivious to the current tension. 

I smile the sweet little smile I like to give when I’m looking innocent. “I have it.” 

And then I push off the oven to retrieve the empty canisters that had, as of this morning, been filled with the expensive imported teas Arthur loved. I hand him the jars without ceremony. 

“I thought they’d make a great cake. So I boiled them down to make a syrup. I guess we’ll see how it turns out.” 

Arthur grits his teeth. “Matthew…” 

“I know you have other teas. You’ll manage.” I’m tall enough that I can pat his head as I say this. 

“You—”

Alfred appears right on time. “Sup guys, bye guys. I’m late!”

He grabs an apple off the counter, completely oblivious to the atmosphere. 

“Love you Dad, love you Papa, love you Matt.” 

And I give him my first genuine smile of the day. “I’m baking a cake for you, Al. It’ll be ready when you get home from class.” 

“Awesome! Thanks, bro! You’re the best!” I get a mega-watt smile, tossed behind him, and then he’s gone.

I return my attention to our parents. 

“Are you two going to stay in here and watch tis cake for me? Or am I allowed to be left unattended?”

Arthur and Papa exchange a look. I can see my Papa trying to signal Arthur that he should leave me alone when I’m this upset. Thankfully, Arthur actually listens to his husband. 

“Good day, Matthew.” Arthur says stiffly. 

Papa tries to hug me. I don’t return the gesture. 

 

♥♥♥♥

 

They say that planning a wedding is a lot of work, but that work is very rewarding. I wouldn’t know. I made sure to stay very far away from the planning of mine. After all, I didn’t have a say about the wedding in the first place. It didn’t  _ feel _ like a wedding at all. 

Papa tried his best to get me involved and I avoided him  _ like the plague _ . I refused to know anything about my future husband too. I told myself it didn’t matter one way or the other because I couldn’t avoid what was happening. Really, I think I’m just too scared. Scared I’m going to be trapped with a horrible person until Alfred is married. Maybe Alfred will never get married! I really don’t trust Papa’s judgment that much. I don’t trust one of his friends. And it’s an 8-year difference, isn’t it?

I was already so worried about the things that I did know. I stayed away from anything else. What about the honeymoon? What about all the dreams I had about my wedding? This was so… unfair.

I found myself with a razor to my wrists more often. Alfred is still keeping me alive. I value his happiness over my own. I always have. My family made it clear, over, and over, that he was the most important child. 

Most of my time between saying yes to being married and the wedding—which has been rushed due to their fear of my backing out—is spent with my baby brother. He suspects reality: I feel annoyed with him, and when I can feel annoyed I can feel happy. 

Without him I feel increasingly numb. My future husband is going to take me away from the reason I’m alive. 

Alfred has always been at the center of my life. I’m not going to live with any of them after this Saturday. I fear that, even if I can hurt Alfred from a distance, it won’t feel real. 

I’m not scared of dying. I’m not even scared of hurting, I’m used to that. I’m scared that my only reason to live will stop mattering to me. I’m scared that I will eventually feel so little that I won’t die because I don’t want to live, but that life won’t even matter enough for me to end it. I still  _ want  _ to heal…

I don’t know what to tell my family. Alfred suspects, but he doesn’t know the half of it. I don’t know, at this point, if they would even care once I told them. 

I just want my baby brother to be happy. To be free. And… right now, I’m still good for that. 

They also say getting married is one of the happiest moments of your life. I must not be doing it right. I’ve never been more miserable.  

 

♥♥♥♥

 

“Did you even shower this morning?”

I eye Arthur with no small measure of distance. “No. It’s not as if I’m here to look good.”

This tiny dressing room feels like a prison. In my reflection, I can see a mirrored urge to scream. A tall, thin, man with dead eyes, tangled hair, and an ill-fitting suit. I look like someone who’s been lent enough money to attend his own funeral. I find that look fitting. The fact that it annoys Arthur is a bonus.

“Hey!” As always Alfred makes an entrance. “I just saw your fiancé! Did you know he’s white?” 

We all just stare at Alfred, who’s smile fades slightly.

“I… I mean like  _ really _ white. What’s the word? With, like, red eyes. Albino!! Yes! He’s that! Isn’t that cool? Bro, and he is pretty hot too.” 

His enthusiasm coaxes a small smile from me. God, please, I don’t know what I’m going to do without him. There is no one else that can make me feel something when I feel I think I’m done feeling. He looks adorable in the outfit that Papa picked out for him. Much cuter than me. He always looks better than me…

“Allons!” Francis appears, clapping his hands, timing always impeccable. 

I let him take my arm. The entire process feels surreal. I’m glad nothing quite registers; I’d start crying if it did. 

I move as though nothing is wrong, but inside I am numb. Papa might as well have been the one getting married for all the attachment I felt to my own body. 

The piano cocoons me in a swell of mindless noise. I couldn’t tell you what song was playing. There was a man already at the altar, and he turned to face me looking like something straight out of dream. A dream in a military uniform… My entire walk could be a dream. In some part of my mind, I know this is real. Life-alteringly real. 

I convince myself it isn’t. 

I stand before the man my Papa chose and wonder how I could dream in so much detail. When the man before us marries us, I am still cocooned in piano music. The words I respond sound foreign. Is that really my voice? Are those my lips that he touches?

What am I doing…?

The rest of the wedding is meaningless ceremony. I dance with my family, my new husband, strangers. They say things to me, things I can’t recall. I don’t respond. I must seem as blank to them as I feel. I’m in shock. 

My parents must notice my lack of responsiveness because my wedding is rushed to an end. I am hurried off with my new husband before I ruin my forced wedding. 

“Are you okay?”

We’re sitting in the same car now. Close enough to touch. He keeps asking me the same question. I can’t think of a response. I keep shaking my head. I think I tell him I’m tired. My yes close at some point. I can still hear him. I can still hear the piano. I wonder if, when I fall asleep, I’ll wake up.

♥♥♥♥


	2. Uh-Oh, The Lies

My eyes open sometime late in the next afternoon. Things feel real again. Real enough that I could believe the wedding last night didn’t—

“Oh.” I roll over and hit another human being. 

He yawns. “Good morning.” 

My eyes widen. He brought me to bed?! I jerk up and yank off the blankets. I hear him laugh. 

“Chill. I didn’t do anything to you. I’m not like that.” He reassures me. “You were really out of it last night. I just took you to our hotel room outside the airport to rest.”

_ Our hotel room…? _ I am still mostly dressed. I still give him a suspicious look. He’s not wearing a shirt… Alfred was right. Albino. And hot. Very hot.

“Are you still going to ignore me?” He sits up. “I thought you were excited.” 

Excited? We hadn’t even spoken. Why would he think—… Papa. Of course. Who would agree to marry someone who didn’t want to be married? I sigh and rub my eyes.

“… I’m sorry.” I say softly.

He gives me an odd look. “Sorry? What do you mean, sorry? For what? Hey, are you sick? We could have post-poned the wedding. I could take you home.” 

“I’m not sick.” I reply with a small laugh. “Not physically…”

“What?” He leans closer without touching me.

I shake my head. “What’s your name again? I know it’s Gilbert, but I, uh, can’t remember the last name…”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You don’t know my name?” 

I shrug. He’s silent for almost an entire minute. I wonder if he’s angry with me. I wonder what kind of man I’ve married. He might even hit me. Somehow, I don’t think he will. Papa has good taste in friends for the most part…

“So, what do you know about me?” He finally asks.

I meet his eyes. “You’re eight years older than me.” 

He waits. As though I know anything else. He’s wrong. 

“That’s it?” He searches my face. 

I nod. 

Gilbert shakes his head. Gives a breathless laugh. I can tell this is not at all what he expected from me. I was right. Papa’s lied to him about my interest. I’d though my new husband was in on this plot, but it seems he’s been tricked as much as I’ve been forced. 

“Did you want this marriage.” Gilbert asks carefully. He seems much less sure of himself than he had a moment ago. “Francis specifically said you had asked him to arrange you one. Was he lying?” 

I think I like this guy. He’s bright.  _ Quick to the draw… _

“I did agree to this. My Papa wasn’t lying about that.” I tilt my head. “If he told you I was more excited… he was lying. I didn’t wat to know anything about you.” 

“Why not? Didn’t you want to make sure this would work out?” Gilbert is nothing like I imagined. 

“I… trust my Papa’s judgment and I was already nervous…” I look away from him because I’m starting to feel guilty. I didn’t consider for a moment that he wasn’t in on this with Papa. He’s a victim too because I’m a miserable husband. 

“Hey! Hey! Don’t look so down! There’s no reason to be nervous. Not with me. The first thing you need to know ab0ut me, ‘cause you don’t know anything else, is that I am awesome.” Gilbert’s tone has changed dramatically upon my turning away. 

I think… I’m going to cry. I don’t want to cry. I’ve been doing such a good job not crying. I’ve held out for so long… but my throat is tight, my hearing is growing fuzzy, and I can feel pressure just behind my eyes.

He thought he was going to be happy, but he’s just stuck with me instead. I did this for Alfred. I wanted my brother to be happy, but even that was selfish because now I’ve made someone else unhappy and I can’t leave because I still have to worry about Alfred so we’re both just trapped in an unhappy relationship and that’s my fault—I should have found a husband sooner. No one ever liked me enough. I doubt—If I were Alfred and I were charming—I’ve been so selfish haven’t— 

My breath hitches. 

It’s so unfair. It’s all so unfair… I wore a stupid suit and fought and cried when this man was  _ excited _ to marry me and it’s just hurt him because I’m useless. I’m useless… 

I feel tears spilling despite my best efforts and my chest constricts further. 

Why am I falling apart now? Why am I so pathetic…?

“Matthew. Matt.” Gilbert tucks a hand under my chin. “Are you sure you’re okay? Are you lying to me about this marriage?”

He’s moved so he’s in front of me. His hand is warm, so is the smile on his face. I meet his eyes and feel worse. He looks so worried. 

“I-I-I…” A sob chokes me off. I jerk away from his touch to bury my face in my hands. I’m ashamed. 

I don’t resist when he pulls me against his chest, an arm around my shoulders. “Calm down. If Francis forced you into anything, you can tell me. If you don’t want this marriage, we can end it—” 

“No!” I pop off his chest. He can’t—I can’t— “No!”

“Shhh… shhhhh… okay. We won’t end anything. Calm down.” Gilbert rubs my back until I’m crying against his chest again. He has very strong arms… he feels solid…

“You know,” his breath tickles my ear, “we have quite a few wedding presents.” 

He’s shifted me onto his lap as I calmed down. I don’t respond, so he continues. 

“I know that a lot of them are for you. That’s not surprising. You’re much cuter than me.” He laughs. I can feel it in his chest. “Even if I am the awesome one. Guess people don’t like brining weapons to weddings. They had to settle for your love of ‘cooking.’”

He knows things about me. Of course he does. How much can he really know? If he really knew that much, how I am, then he would have never agreed to this. I’m sure he regrets this. I’m sure I won’t be able to explain to Papa why there was a divorce. 

“There’s also some hockey memorabilia.” I can hear that he’s grinning. “Francis gave me a very detailed litany of your life, you know. Wasn’t sure I believed some of it, seeing how cute and sweet you look in pictures, but you’re uh… mmm. You’re  _ almost _ as tall as me.” 

I can’t help but snort. Alfred is Gilbert’s height and I’m definitely taller than Alfred. Gilbert’s grin stretches into a smile. I finally responded to something with an emotion other than distress. Encouraged, he puts his hands on my shoulders so that he can pull me back and look me in the eye. 

“See? I’m not so bad. I managed a laugh.”

I look down again, I don’t see his smile fade. 

“Matthew…” He gently tucks a hand under my chin, again. “I don’t think your father lied one time about your personality. I know he hasn’t lied about how cute you are because I can see you. And anything else there is to know you can tell me.” 

I just shake my head again. “… I’m sorry.”

His eyes narrow. “Because we’re married?”

I nod. 

He considers that point for a moment. “Then I forgive you. Even though I doubt this is your fault. But the fact is that we’re married now. You don’t want to end it and it’s not like I have any better prospects so I’m not in a hurry. Look, regardless of how this happened we are now equal partners. And I expect you to contribute to the decision making as such. So, what do you want to do now?”

I shrug, feeling overwhelmed. Gilbert is very intense, isn’t he? I suppose one of us has to be. 

He takes that into consideration. “Fine. If you don’t have any plans then what are you worried mine will be?” 

I feel my face heat up, but maybe through the tears I’m sure he can’t tell. “You want… sex?”

“No.” He responds immediately. It’s… borderline insulting how fast he shuts me down.

“Oh… okay.”

“Matthew. I’m deadly serious on that point. I’ve been good friends with Francis for almost 10 years now. You think I don’t know every detail of consent? Your father would never put you with a man who didn’t. That’s really important to him.” 

Yeah, well, my happiness should have been to him too. I sigh. “I… believed you. I know my own Papa. I was just going to say that, uh, I want to shower.” 

“Good.” He releases me. “And don’t worry about time ‘cause we missed our flight.” 

I freeze where I’d stood up off the edge of the bed. We did? It was because of me because I broke down and I cried… It’s my fault. 

“No. That was a joke. I own a plane. Ludwig, that’s my brother, he basically built it.”

Wasn’t a very fun joke. I walk into the bathroom and slam the door. Showering gives me time to think and time to calm down. I can go somewhat numb again; I can face my new husband with a shred of dignity. While I was behind the curtain Gilbert silently cracked open the door and slipped in a more comfortable outfit than my cheap suit. This isn’t something I notice until I step out of the porcelain tub to dry. It’s a thoughtful gesture, and seems to fit his attention to detail. He’s an odd mix: military intensity behind a good heart. 

The clothes are mine. Papa must have packed for me. My favorite hoddie, a worn pair of jeans. He really does think of everything. In a way… that’s enviable.

I open the door to find that Gilbert has rigged up some sort of bar, upon which he is now pumping out upside down sit ups. My confusion must register on my face because, as soon as he sees me, he feels the need to say:

“Don’t mind this. I take it everywhere. Can’t waste any time, and this kind of body isn’t an accident, you know?”

… I should have let Papa explain this man to me. I just didn’t imagine he’d be so hard to pin down.

 

♥♥♥♥

 

Gilbert’s intricate knowledge of how the plane was built would have fascinated Alfred. In fact, such an extensive list of technical terms, ones I’d never heard before, reminds me of my own baby brother, and that’s comforting. I’m much more relaxed on the private jet, where I can sit a comfortable distance from Gilbert, in comfortable clothes, and I feel a little less boxed in by the situation. (Only a little less. I’m still in a tiny metal bird flying away from the only person I think keeps me remotely stable.) 

Gilbert is a good man. He is an attractive man. My father did well in his choice. If I had met Gilbert on the street I would have hoped he was single. Yet I’m still bitter because I didn’t meet him on the street. Even if Papa has found me my soul mate, he didn’t do it through honest means and that’s something I need to reconcile with my new husband regardless of his part in the deceit. 

I think he has some idea about what I’m think, and I think he’s pretty much guessed what my Papa has done. Gilbert is rather clever. And he’s not even pushing me to admit what he suspects, however, and I appreciate that. Maybe he’s just too confidant for his own good. 

I don’t think I need to worry about awkward silences with him, either. He filled our entire, almost 9 hour, flight, with chatter and it didn’t even seem to even remotely tap him out. All of what I say wouldn’t have filled up a page… but I guess I’m making up for not learning more about him. 

He has a car waiting for us as soon as we land. I’m surprised by the ferocity with which he greets his driver. 

“Lud! Luddy! Ludwig!!” Gilbert is basically hanging I the driver’s window. “Look! My husband is here! Look at him! He’s taller than I expected, but he’s also so cute! Cuter than Feliciano, eh?”

The driver, Ludwig—who must the brother I’ve heard of—sighs and shoves Gilbert back from the window. 

“Yes, yes. Very nice. Get in the car.” His English isn’t quite as good as Gilbert’s. He gives me a warmer welcome that he did his brother when I slide into the backseat. “Nice to meet you.” 

I smile kinda weakly and nod. Once again Gilbert takes over the conversation, making sure that Ludwig knows every detail of his trip to America. I’m amused by the way he perceives things, ‘cause they’re a whole lot different than how I saw them. I’m also amused by the way Ludwig handles his brother. If this relationship works out, and right now it has to, I’ll have to learn from Ludwig. 

Ludwig drives us to a large house just outside of Berlin. I watch the trees flashing past my window as we wind up the long drive way impassively. 

“Do you like it?” Gilbert asks with a grin that’s just a little too cocky for my taste. 

And I do like it. It has more character than our own colonial style mansion did. But instead of saying that I shrug. “Mine’s bigger.”

He laughs. “Because Francis is compensating. 

I raise an eyebrow. “And you know this because…?”

“We are  _ best  _ friends.” He responds with a wink as the car pulls to a stop. 

Well. I regret asking. Just another thing I’ll have to never think about again. Francis would be a cougar type—before I can open my mouth to respond, let alone process it, Gilbert has vaulted out of the car and is opening my door. 

“I’ll take you on the grand tour! Lud and the servants will get your bags and put them up in… hmm, I had you in my room. Honeymooning and all. But! Ludwig!! Set up a guest room!”

He steps from the driver’s seat. “A guest room, yes. I’ll have Herr Vargas informed.”

“Awesome.”

I let him pull me through guest rooms, an indoor theatre, an indoor pool, a surprisingly large collection of weapons (Mostly antiques), and a handful of other meaningless spaces that really only money can buy. Décor aside, wealth was wealth, and none of what he has to offer was any greater than what I’d grownup with. Besides, and I know I’m dismissing what some people work a lifetime for, and it if I don’t know how pathetic I am, it’s all the same to me.

“I can see you’re not impressed. And I wasn’t excepting you to be impress anyways.”

“Oh, no…?” I say quietly. “Your weapons collection was… colorful.”

“Yeah, yeah, but I know you don’t care about that.  _ This  _ is what you care about.” He grandly opens a door to a greenhouse. 

I smile a little. I do enjoy gardening but…

“This is nice,” I say in an effort to make his posturing feel worth it. 

He just laughs. “It’s not just that. This isn’t any ordinary greenhouse! It’s a greenhouse connected to a kitchen!”

That takes a moment to really register. When it clicks  _ why _ someone would attach a greenhouse to a kitchen, my eyes light up.

“Oh. I can use my garden year around when cooking!” I clap my hands. 

Gilbert grins when I call the garden mine. It’s not something I think about. After all… he just implied that he’s giving it to me. 

“You haven’t even seen the kitchen yet!” He takes my arm to guide me through the rows of herbs, and hanging vegetables, to a glass door.

“Aaand, you’re not that impressed with my kitchen, are you?” Gilbert notices my eyes staying on the greenhouse doors after we exit it.

I smile slightly. “No… it isn’t that this isn’t impressive My kitchen at home was just, well, designed by my Papa.”

“I get that.” He looks around with me. “I don’t use this much. The chef seems to love it, however.”

“Well is—”

“She French? Yes.”

“I’m sure we’ll get along.”

I’m going to be backing a lot. It calms my nerves. And I’m so stressed I’ll have to.. Just then a thin man with auburn hair appears, flanked by dogs.

“Herr Beilschmidt? Oh, and… er… Herr Beilschmidt! Your room is ready!”

I assume the use of English is for my benefit considering his thick accent. (Which I don’t believe is German. The Beilschmidts [and I’m one of those now too, aren’t I?] seems to oversee one very multicultural household.) 

“Can we go see it?”

Gilbert gives me a look. “Do you want to be left alone?”

He saw through that pretty g=quickly. I nod, it unnerves me how easily he can read me, No one else in my family could. I’d started to think I was unrelatable or….  Maybe even invisible. 

“That’s fine, but you know you can tell me that kind of thing. I want you to feel at home here.” Gilbert smiles at me.

I look down. 

My room is big and well lit, with a hanging bed, window seats, a small lofted kitchen, an attached bathroom, and a space where the floor dips down into a nest of couches surrounding a flat screen. The luxury I’m used to, but Gilbert’s home seems much more geared towards pleasure as opposed to Papa’s preferred style which favors shiny unlivable rococo. Alfred would love this room…

My stuff sits in a pile under this large bronze-leaf chandelier. Great. 

“Should I leave you to unpack?” 

A nod.

Gilbert pats my back. “I’ll call you for dinner than.”

And then, finally, I’m alone. 

I sit down on the edge of a window seat and stare out at the expanse of trees and paths below me without really seeing anything. My life has always been one of privilege. My new husband is, arguably, perfect. Papa was right: he picked the perfect match. People would kill to have what I had and yet—

I feel empty. 

I cried on my wedding night; I hid in my castle; I fought with parents who had easily placed me in the one percent; I slowly went numb and the hole inside of me ate away at me without anyone even asking me why I needed so much damn reassurance because my life was a fairy tale—

I hate myself for everything I can’t seem to stop feeling because I know that the people who wished they were me would enjoy this. And they should be here! They deserve this… I know, or I suspect, that with less privilege I might just be dead. Not kept alive despite all my shortcomings. And that way, maybe, I’d be happy… I was only ever adopted by some mistake of fate. It was always wasted on me. 

I want to stand up. I want to put away my things. I want to claim this wonderful room. I want to let Gilbert in, and walk on the paths below me, and I want to have a fighting chance, but…

Why isn’t that enough? Why can’t I move? I tell myself I should, and every time I can’t bring myself to listen, and every time I can’t listen I hate myself a little more, and the more I hate myself the less inclined I am to move.  

So, I just sit there. For I don’t know how long. Maybe hours. It must be hours.

Gilbert returns as the sun is setting. He bursts in with force and color… I didn’t want to cry until he came in. I didn’t really feel much of anything until he came in. I swallow hard as his smile fades upon seeing that nothing has been done. 

He’ll probably ignore it. I’m sure this is the last thing he wants, to deal with— 

“You haven’t done anything!” He walks in and turns on a light. 

I blink a few times. I’m used to a family that sweeps imperfection under the rug. 

I wait to be blamed. 

“Clearly you’re overwhelmed by my awesomeness and the awesomeness of my home. That’s understandable. I should have known. However,” He opens one of my boxes. “let my help.”

I’m not sure how to respond. “But... dinner?”

“Can be brought up! Matt, listen, efficiency runs in my blood! I can’t stand by while my sweet husband is overwhelmed and do nothing!”

I bite my lips. “I’m not some damsel…”

He snorts, a whirlwind of energy. “Obviously. I didn’t want to marry some damsel.”

He’s doing all the work I should have done alone… guilt hits me. Why am I so useless…?

“Ya know, if I do all of this myself, I’m just really throwing things around haphazardly and you’ll probably have to go and re-organize things. So, you should probably guide me. A little.”

I hesitantly stand, drawn in by Gilbert’s energy, and he immediately involves me. I must hear ‘where does this go?’ a hundred times. 

Food shows up and I eat. Gilbert takes occasional bites between his work. Somehow everything Papa packed me finds a place. 

“Thank you.” 

Gilbert smiles. “Anytime! Feels like home, doesn’t it?”

I shrug and he reaches out to squeeze my shoulder. Despite the smile his eyes are serious when they meet mine. 

“You are not alone here. Do you want me to spend the night?”

I shake my head. Gilbert doesn’t let me dampen my feelings. And I don’t want to feel so much around a stranger… I don’t want to have to be terrified when I look in his eyes that I won’t ever be able to feel something real for this man. He’s something new entirely. That scares me. He sees me.

“Okay. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He gives me one last squeeze. 

Just before walking out the door with our plates he stops. “I am right next door. I’m serious. Anytime. Embarrassment free.”

He shuts the door softly. I sigh, sitting hard on the bed. 

He  _ sees _ me. 

 

♥♥♥♥


	3. The Dates, The Romance, The Meat of the Story

Gilbert wakes me up at some ungodly hour that next morning. 

“Sleeping in I see!” He says brightly from the end of my bed. I give him a glare, pat around for my glasses, and peer at the alarm clock beside my bed. 

“8… am?” I groan. 

Gilbert laughs. I ‘m not in the mood. 

“Sure! 5 am is my usual time to get up and attack ‘em—”

“…at ‘em…”

“Right! I get about maybe 5 hours of sleep. That’s all I need.”

I roll over with another yawn, curling up and tossing my glasses aside. “I want a divorce.”

“At least you know I’m hard to wear out.” I can feel him crawl onto the bed. I don’t look up. I’m not giving him the satisfaction of a wink…

“I am rich… I’m too rich for this bullshit…” My voice is muffled by the pillows I’ve claimed for protection. 

“I gave you an extra three hours!”

I flail towards his general direction. Another laugh before he easily catches my wrists. 

“C’mon. I have something important to discuss with you, young man. It’s serious.”

Serious at 8 am? Great… I reluctantly allow him to pull me up and out of bed. 

“What can I do for you?” He responds to my deathlike look. “So that that you stop trying to murder me with your eyes.”

“Coffee.”

“Okay. How much sugar?”

“Black.”’

He raises his eyebrows. “That’s a surprise from you.”

I shake my head. “Not at 8 fucking am it’s not.” 

Once coffee is made, and I’ve unflinchingly downed my share, Gilbert settles in for a serious talk. My stomach has woken up enough to start feeling uneasy.

“I’ve noticed something crucial: you’re moved in but you’re not in love with me!”

I don’t like where this is going. I knew he was being too good…

“Gil, please.”

He meets my eyes and holds up a hand. He isn’t smiling. “Obviously I can’t stay married to a man who doesn’t love me.”

“Gil—”

“Let me finish! I only see one solution after this time we had together.” 

My eyes fill with tears. I knew it. I  _ knew _ it. He couldn’t love me, who could? I—i—

“We have to go on a date!”

…wait? What? I blink a few times. Gilbert is smiling again. 

“So, did I scare you? The face was kinda priceless.”

I say nothing. I look down.

“Hey? Matt, are you okay?”

He stands and walks over to me. 

“I was trying to have some fun, but that was a dick move, wasn’t it? Sorry.”

I’m more upset than he could have imagined, and I guess I can’t blame him; I’m full of issues he hasn’t even begun to guess. 

“It’s just that… well, after watching you last night and this morning I have to have you. I wasn’t sure if that was just lust—you’re very attractive—but now I’m positive it’s more. And I know that I am awesome enough for you to fall for me.”

“Gilbert… I’m sorry.”

He hugs me, and I can feel him sigh. 

“I’m fine Matt. We’re good.”

He holds me for a second longer, and it’s nice. He has such strong arms. Arms I can feel safe in. Anything this stable in my world is welcome. 

“Our first date is going to be ice-skating. I know that’s something you love.”

_ And you’ll feel comfortable… _ I can almost hear him add. I offer a weak smile that does not even begin to convey my gratitude for what he’s done for me in this impossible situation. 

“People in Germany know what ice-skates are?” I ask. 

He gently hits me. “Ha. Ha.”

Not to be modest, as I so often am, but I do think I’m a pretty decent ice-skater. (And this is a date, this isn’t hockey, so Gilbert has the bonus of not being terrified that entire time.) I play the cute card for the first ten or so minutes we’re on the ice, after all I did dress to appeal to that factor, but I get bored quickly. I start with some tricks: speed skating, hops, twirls. I can tell he’s impress, the way his eyes light up, and that makes me feel like I’m worth just a bit more. 

“I could probably do some of that stuff, too.” He tells me with one of his over-confident smirks. 

I twist effortlessly around so I’m skating backwards in front of him. “I’m sure you could, Gil.”

He gives my sugary little smile a suspicious look, trying to judge if I’m mocking him. Evidently, he decides I’m being genuine because he tries his own little hop. I’m ready to catch him when he inevitably slips, using his off-balance momentum to spin him around in my arms. I twirl us to a gentle stop and right him.

“That was so good!” I pat his head, and his eyes narrow.

“You’re patronizing me.”

My smile widens. “But Gil—”

“No! Save it! I didn’t come here to be mocked!” 

I laugh at his little pout. “Do you really want me to drop the pretense? I was trying to be gentle with your ego.”

That surprised him: to have his suspicions confirmed. I smile cutely and he grins. 

“Oh, it is so on you little bitch. Race me.” And he takes off, rather clumsily if I may add. Practically hacking his way across the rink. 

I give him a moment before I chase him down. It is insultingly easy to do. Within a minute I’ve overtaken him and woven elegantly through the next ten people. 

I must lap him three or four times before he’s through with even two. Once I even do the whole lap backwards, hands folded behind me, just to showcase. His eyes stay on me the entire time he moves, and I’m trying to give him good reason to keep them there. In fact, I enthrall him so completely that, before he can finish round 3, he slams into a wall and sends himself spinning across the ice. Laughing all the way, I skate over to him. Just before reaching his poor limp form I skid to a stop, spraying him with ice. 

He sits up. “Maybe I did like the sweet act better.”

I reach out a hand. “It’s your fault for requesting a losing challenge.” 

He takes my hand and allows me to pull him up. For a moment I expect another retort, but he smiles. 

“You’re beautiful.” 

I flush and weave my fingers between his. Once again, I’m caught completely off guard. How am I supposed to respond to that? We’d just gotten into the rhythm of friendly banter and he’d ambushed me with a compliment. Gilbert chuckles.

“At least I always know that I can win at something! I’ve rendered you speechless.” 

How does he always sound so cocky?!

I shove him and he barely keeps from falling, I’m not even moved. 

“I want to play hockey with you!”

Gilbert hesitates, no doubt wondering why I made that sound like a threat, but then his infallible cockiness kicks in. “Sure.”

He takes my hand again, pulling me back into the flow of skaters. “But you’ll have to fence me.”

“It’s a date.”

 

♥♥♥♥

 

In the best possible outcome for the development of our relationship, neither hockey or fencing take place next. Still, Gilbert had chosen something both aggressive and competitive. Much like his character. 

Gilbert had proposed a paintball date after yanking me from blessed oblivion at a somewhat decent hour, and I’d quickly accepted. Yesterday had been fun: a distraction. I wanted to stay distracted. I wanted to force myself to keep feeling happy, having fun… even if at night I can’t stave off the numbness… even if the voice in my head keeps whispering constant negativity. 

“Are we going on a new date every day?” I ask, after getting dressed.

Gilbert nods.  “As long as it takes for you to love me. Or not.”

I guess money is no obstacle for us… Gilbert’s unwavering attention is very new to me. I keep thinking he’ll get bored, but he never does. My mask is not built up well enough for this kind of constant scrutiny. Mine is not a façade that has been tested….

Gilbert uses the paintball date to show off as much as I’d used the ice skating date. I suppose he thought that was only fair. We play with a group of strangers. It’s odd for me to be referred to as someone’s husband. I don’t think that’s something I’ll ever get used to…

Being on Gilbert’s team is wonderful. He acts as a protector and as a leader. I don’t mind one bit that he takes it all to serious when I’m the one he’s defending. 

So, when a game starts that puts us all in the position of lone wolf, and I’m not the only one who comes to this conclusion, I am less than thrilled that Gilbert is also playing. We are not reassured by his jubilant reaction to the announcement of this new game. No one is supposed to be happy about losing their support, or, as Gilbert referred to us, ‘liabilities’. 

My strategy was to hide. Not because I thought that he couldn’t find me, but because I’m not sure how I could even try and fight. Out of what could be some kind of misplaced mercy, Gilbert decides to finish me off last. While I listen to everyone else’ screams, I try and formulate a strategy. 

And I come up with crying.

That’s right: pathos. I appeal to emotion. As soon as I hear him approaching where I’m hiding I start audibly sobbing. If I can take him off guard while he asks what’s wrong I can probably win—

I hear two distinct pops before I feel the shots. Gilbert has arrived. 

My crying abruptly stops. My jaw drops. 

He pulls his mask off his face. “I win.”

“You…  _ shot me. _ ” 

“To win. Yeah.”

“You shot me while I was  _ crying _ !! Twice!! What if I’d been really upset!”

He shrugs. “You stopped so obviously you weren’t. War is all about risk-taking, Matt.”

My mouth closes with a snap and I heave my own gun. 

“Matt—”

I shoot him in the face. “Whoops.”

“Ah!” He falls back. “You shot me!’ 

“I was crying, Gil!!”

“That was my  _ eye _ you  _ bitch _ !” 

“I’m your husband!!”

“I’m YOUR husband!” 

Surprisingly, we keep this exchange up all the way home. We’re not really arguing, but we both want the last word. He energy is contagious and I find myself having fun with this violent outpouring of emotion. I’m not used to it. 

Our yelling match ends without a clear winner when Gilbert gets to the master bathroom and turns to me, face covered in paint, with a wink.

“Wanna join?”

I slam the door in his face and retreat to my own bathroom in my own bedroom. I find myself giggling, that’s new. Normally I don’t laugh when I’m alone. I usually shut that down. 

You could say I take long showers, but that would be an understatement. Sometimes it took me an hour. Never under 40 minutes. I guess I should have figured he’d be done before me, but, like I’ve said, I’m used to being mostly left alone. 

So, when I exit my bathroom I a towel I expect to be aloe. I’m not prepared. As innocent as it might be, to see Gilbert sitting on my bed. I step back as soon as he stands p, trying to curl back into myself and disappear. But it’s too late for that. 

Then he notices the one thing I did not want anyone to see. My scars. Perfect scars. Scars in lines up my sides. 

I drop my eyes because I know I should be ashamed, and I am.

All the goodwill, humor, fun, and happiness I’d tried to cultivate vanishes. My own mind swallows me again. 

His hands feel warm on my arms. 

“It’s okay. We’ll be okay.” 

I glance up long enough to see the pity in his eyes, and a new burning desire that scares me…

And maybe I should have felt insulted by this pity, or wanted him to love me without feeling obligated to save me, but… honestly, it was the first time anyone had felt pity for me. Seen my pain. This is the first time anyone has cared enough to even think about saving me, and I am grateful for the look. 

“You don’t need to be ashamed.” He tells me. 

I don’t want to talk about this. 

“I’m here for anything that you need.” He continues.

I reach a hand out and touch his face. “Gil…” I clear my throat after my voice cracks. “You have a bruise… I did that.”

Gilbert sighs and catches my hand. “I deserved it.” He pulls me closer. “You were crying.” 

He kisses both my eyes. “And I said I’d protect you.”

He kisses me for the first time since we were married. This time, however, I am open and aware. It feels right. Between us the towel I was holding is now suspended by where his body is pressed to mine.

Our kiss is long and sweet, lacking in passion but containing a promise. He thinks I’m beautiful… he’s willing to keep trying… When we finally break apart he smiles. 

“Get dressed. We can relax for the rest of the day, okay? I’ll be waiting outside of the door, okay?”

I nod, not quite okay, but not quite awful either. 

That night is the first night we share a bed. Nothing happens… He simply holds me, and it’s enough. We share a bed for comfort. In a way, though, brick by brick, we are making love. 

 

♥♥♥♥

 

Seven dates. Seven days. A week. That’s all the time I get to attempt to figure out my relationship with my husband before two custom leather loafers grace out parlor floor. 

“Papa.” I greet him with an unintentionally dry tone. 

Ice skating, paintball, hockey, fencing, dinner, a movie, hang-gliding, a handful of kisses, and some warm nights spent cuddling were not enough to steal me against the force that was my Papa. Despite his attention and a few unintentional confessions on my part, I knew Gilbert wasn’t going to understand my relationship with Papa. (I would bet that he would want to be honest and open. That would annoy me.) 

“Your father couldn’t make it.” Papa tells me as Feli takes his scarf and coat. 

“Then we’re one person short of a true miracle, aren’t we?” I smile with what I consider to be an appropriate amount of malice. 

The look I receive in response is almost one of pity, Gilbert looks between us with clear distress. Hi best friends and his husband clearly don’t get along. And worse: this was family drama. As of a week ago  _ his _ family. IT’s all pretty evident on his face, which is normally so hard to read. 

Awkwardly, he hugs Francis. I can tell that he’s thinking the same thing I am:  _ tonight is going to be so much fun… _

All the same, he has dinner ready on time. I respect his commitment to punctuality like I respect Papa’s commitment to the social realm. Regrettably, both put me into a position where I have to have dinner between them.

“Did Matthew help make this?” Papa directs his question at Gilbert and not me. A wise choice.

“No. And don’t worry. Neither did I.” They laugh. I don’t think Gilbert is a bad cook at all. 

I hope they’ll keep talking to each other without ever addressing me. My hopes last only through the first course

“You know, your brother is going to be visiting Russia for a few months as he prepares to work for NASA.” He does that very irritating raise in his voice at the beginning, the annoying one that parents do when they want you to know that they’re talking to you. As if I could ignore Papa. 

“Yes.” I haven’t eaten much. I’m just not very hungry. And why would that be? “He said as much when he called.”

“I’m glad you two are so close.” Francis smiles at me.

I take a small bite. It’s an excuse not to respond. 

“But, of course. I have seen your brother a lot this past week. I want to know more about you, darling. Gilbert seems very content. Are you, love?”

Oh. Great. 

“I’m…” I sigh. “I’m fine, Papa.”

“Matthew is very sweet.” Gilbert interjects. “I don’t know how  _ you  _ raised him like that.”

Francis laughs. My heart hurts. Papa you were so good sometimes, why does it have to feel like Gilbert isn’t joking. 

“Well, I assume he has to take after me in some ways.”

“He’s an amazing cook.”

Francis’ eyes twinkle. “I didn’t mean only in that way.”

“You can’t skate.” Gilbert responds.

I smile slightly. 

“Don’t be so coy, darlings. Didn’t you two honeymoon this week?”

Ah. 

“Nope.” And now Gilbert’s eyes narrow. “Matt didn’t want anything like that.”

Stop.

Francis clicks his tongue. “He has always been rather shy. I would guess he was nervous about you being a perfect stranger.”

Talking about me as though I’m not at the table…

Gilbert puts down his fork. “Okay.” He pushes his plate aside, elbows on the table. “I didn’t want to talk about this in front of Matthew, I was trying to be civil, for his sake.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Francis’ smile remains like the shield that Gil and I both know it really is. 

“I mean, I thought consent was important to you so I was rather shocked to hear about Matthew’s lack of a decision in this marriage.”

“Ah, yes.” Francis sighs, he twists a loose strand of hair back behind his ear in that deliberate manner he manages to maintain. “I felt that necessary, knowing both of you, as I do.”

“Really? You didn’t think we could figure out that we’d be good together if we just, of I don’t know, met? Went on a one blind date? You think I’m an idiot?” 

“No, of course not—”

“Don’t.”

“—but you’re both very terribly stubborn. I know you would be perfect. And, really, I’d never have actually made Alfred do anything. It was an idle threat.”

I bow my head. I can’t do this right now.

“You… threatened him?” Gilbert takes that into consideration, blinking a few times. “With his brother.”

I thought Gilbert might lose his temper. I’d been misreading him. He stands and moves to me first, setting his napkin gently down atop his plate and motioning for the staff to cease dinner. When he reaches me, he places both hands firmly on my shoulders and leans down.

“You may go, if you wish.” He speaks gently and quietly, so that Papa cannot hear, and he squeezes my shoulder. Then he moves on, leaning against the table to face my Papa, looking down at the man with a fixed glare. 

I’m quick to get up. Quick to move away from them both. 

“We have been friends for a long time, Francis.” Something in Gil’s voice, maybe the way he says friends, freezes me in the door. “You were a wonderful mentor. You were loving. I looked up to you.  Thought you would make an excellent father.”

I can imagine Papa’s face. I wonder if he’s looking at my back. I wonder if he wants to appeal to me, but I don’t turn around.

“I did this to insure my child would have a good future.”

“You did this because you’re selfish. Now that you’re rich you think you deserve to play God? You are all he needs to insure his future.” Gilbert takes a deep breath. “You always told me that freedom and consent, freedom and consent, but now you’ve sold out everything you’ve ever valued.” 

“Gilbert, I think my son has becoming only increasingly despressed. It was, in part, an attempt to improve his emotional state.” 

Those words hit me hard. I slump into the door frame, my hand clenching on the frame. He  _ knew _ , or, he had an idea. He suspected and he did  _ this?!  _ How could he do this?! How could he even claim to care about me while throwing me out of his life…

“I know about his emotional state.” Gil’s tone is chilling. “You didn’t stop to think you were causing it? That his so-called family was hurting him? That you should have fixed your own damned mistakes before running from them like the coward you’ve turned out to be?”

“Gilbert….” The break in my Papa’s voice shouldn’t hurt me as much as it does. 

“Stop. You  _ should _ hurt. Maybe even a fraction of the amount you’ve hurt him.” 

The silence hangs between us, and the only one looking at anyone is Gilbert. 

“Your whole life, Francis, you told me you always wanted to be something. All those years of selling yourself for a better future and you sold out your own son. Maybe that kind of life can’t die. Maybe it’s never enough. You didn’t need the money, Francis. You could have just been a decent father.”

It’s harsh. A side of Gil I hadn’t seen. I feel obligated to turn and comfort Papa, to comfort him. To defend him. Instead, I leave the room, my mechanical movements carrying me up the stairs and to my bed. I don’t know what else is said. I don’t know if they make-up or… I can picture Papa’s face mirroring the tears on mine. But I’m crying as a reflex. He must be crying because he feels like the victim here.

The bed rises up around me: silky sheets and thick comforters only a fraction of the world could afford. That thought isn’t comforting. Despair wells up from some place I can never identify. I could be poor and it would change nothing. Anywhere, any time, I lived I would still be a burden. A burden on Papa. A burden on Gilbert. I’ve done nothing but hurt everyone around me. 

I didn’t know how long it is before the door opens and Gilbert enters. He sits on the edge of my bed. 

“Your father is gone.” He says in a curt way that implies to me there wasn’t much of a choice. I say nothing. 

“You can leave, Matt. We can divorce now. I swear to you Francis will not touch you or your brother. Just tell me what you want. I’ll do it.”

He leans forwards when he says this, sunlight catching his face. When I meet his eyes, they’re blazing red, filled with the kind of determination that could mover heaven, and I believe him. Gilbert has never lied to me.

“I… don’t want to talk about this.” I sound pathetic. Sometimes I wish no one could see me. No one could know. But he’s still here. He’s not going to let me fade away. 

I can see he struggles with that request. He wants to solve problems as they come. It is hard for him to admit, even to himself, that I am not a problem he can solve. He can only care.

“…Okay.” And he lays down beside me.

I can tell he’s searching for something, anything, to say, and I feel guilty that I’ being so difficult when he’s trying so hard. But his eyes light up and he grins.

“Do you want to hear a story about Ludwig, when he was a kid?” And he continues after a pause in which I nod. 

He tells me all sorts of stories about Ludwig, until he coaxes a genuine smile from me. He talks and talks until I offer a small story of my own. And then he starts to listen to me. And we talk until the sunlight seeps from my room and my tears are long gone. Than he finally sits up. 

“I am going to help you, Matt.” He says firmly, and I know he’s been thinking about this all afternoon. “I know I’ve only known you for a week but this…” he motions around. “Unacceptable. You  _ need _ help. Especially if you live here. Francis’ isn’t all wrong. I do like you. A lot. But we can’t so this like… this. And I know I can’t save you, even if I did love you, I know I can’t…” He clasps my hand. “We’re going therapist shopping. That’s my point.”

I grimace. He’s right. I know that. But it just seems so incredibly uncomfortable. What would I even tell a therapist? That I’m another fucked up rich boy paying not to be judged for it? Great.

“Don’t give me that look. I’ll pay for it. And it can even stay between us. I won’t even tell Ludwig. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

In part, yes… I never wanted Papa to know, specifically. Never wanted my family to know. Don’t I owe this to Gilbert, though? At least a try… 

I sit up too. “Okay.”

 

♥♥♥♥

 


	4. So Did it Work, The Romance?

♥♥♥♥

 

Three weeks and almost 12 therapists late we’ve fallen into something of a routine. Gil refused to stop taking me on daily dates, so we still do those. At first, they were all strictly planned and each moment was perfect. He only kissed me at the appropriate and perfect of moments. Now, though, our dates and kisses are becoming much more spontaneous. Impulsive. Natural. An afterthought. 

Around 7 pm, after whatever date he drags, on—trying to aggressively make up that lack of real courtship—we would go to the therapist I’d settled on. He had warm, brown eyes, a Spanish accent, and he was always smiling. Antonio would welcome me every day with a new brand of candy, his office smelling of freshly ground coffee no matter how late I scheduled. 

He had a sort of genuine care about him that the others didn’t and when I hadn’t said anything at first, he’d slowed way down. I knew he had a high price but I felt this one deserved it. Besides, the expensive ones were always so wonderful accommodating. 

Papa called and called and called and Gilbert blocked him at my discretion. It felt good to be chased, for once. To ignore  _ him _ , for once. He never came around. I don’t know if he tried. It was very clear that Gilbert was keeping me in a bubble. We hadn’t even truly argued yet. And I could tell, at time, he wanted to, when he grew frustrated or annoyed, when he wanted to snap at me and almost did. I wouldn’t have blamed him. I knew my reluctance was frustrating, especially to a planner. I knew my problems were effecting both of us. 

But he always stepped from the room. I tried to tell him it was okay. I got upset too. He could be too much, too loud, too overbearing. At times, I just wanted to scream at him  _ I’m an adult! I can take care of myself. Give me space!  _ But I didn’t always feel that way. We both said nothing when we got angry. We spent hours silently sulking in opposite ends of the house until we were forced to come back together and recalled that we did actually like each other. I was sure this would escalate one day, but we just weren’t ready yet. Annoyingly enough, we both understood that I was just too fragile. 

I’ve been here a month now, and you know, I can almost see living here forever. There is still one thing missing… 

And he shows up at the end of the fifth week. Without any sort of warming or phone call. One day a knock leads to Alfred being in Gilbert’s—in our—living room. As always, he arrives with the force of a hurricane. 

“Mattie! Mattie!! MATTIE!!” 

I jump. Al…? Why?

Feliciano chases him in. “Oh! Matthew! Sir! Your brother is arrived! You have… whew… a guest!”

“Alfie…?”

Before I can turn to confirm his arrival, he’s hit him, wrapping me up in a hug and lifting me off the ground despite our height differences. He spins me around. I don’t resist, not that that would do much good anyways. He sits me down, clasps my arms, and looks around. 

“So, this is where you live now?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Do you even know how weird it is to live in a home without you? How quiet—well, it’s always quiet—but, uhm, lacking in _ presence _ ! I miss you! That’s what I’m trying to say! I miss you.”

I smile weakly. I forgot how much Al impacts me. “You want a tour?”

“Yes!” He loops his arm in mine. 

I don’t think he takes a breath as we move through the house, perhaps only when we enter Gil’s weapon room. He seems detached from the home, anchoring all this vivacity on me, trying to recreate for the last month exactly as he’d experienced it. We end up in my room, where Al leaps onto my bed. 

“—and so now I’m going to Russia because that’s where all our rockets are coming from right now!” 

A pause. Ah. I take the rare moment to pat his head. “Al, be safe there kay?”

“Yeah, course!” He reaches onto my bedside table and picks up the journal I’ve been keeping for Antonio. 

“I’m serious. You tend to be very… yourself. Russia is not America. Please be mindful.”

He flips through some of the pages, scanning over the inscription that marks this to be a therapeutic journal. He considers me, and then carefully sets down the journal. Then he gives me this silly little grin. 

“Look at us, getting’ our lives together.” He says.

“I guess so.” And I can’t help but return that grin. 

“So, where’s the hubby?” Alfred hops from the bed, as though Gilbert might appear at any moment. 

Where did Gilbert say he was going? I’d been watching food Network…

“Uhm,” I glance around, Alfred’s silliness contagious. “I think he went to one of the nightclubs he owns.”

“He owns nightclubs?”

“And bars, yeah. Are you hungry?”

“Yes!”

I smile. Predictable. Sometimes that’s nice. I take Alfred back to the kitchen and set about making something that I know he’ll like. To have him here is both soothing and concerning. Alfred, in short, makes me emotional. So, does Gilbert, yes, I know I’ve keep repeating these things, but Al is…. Well, I’ve been feeling very different than I did at home and I’m not sure how Al’s going to change that. 

“You seem happy.” Alfred notes when I hand him his lunch, no pausing between bites to speak. I don’t scold him, but I now he’s been trained better.

“I mean,” he continues, grabbing the full pitcher of strawberry tea. “I was super worried, you know. I don’t think you said a word during the wedding and then you were all rushed off! I thought maybe you were sick!”

“No…” Now that Papa can’t hold it over me I wonder if I should tell Alfred. I’ve tried to keep him innocent, in a sense, but maybe that’ll only do more harm than good. 

Alfred pauses then, setting his fork down, and his look becomes serious. Maybe he’s always been smarter than I wanted him to be. 

“You did insist, to me, that you wanted to marry him. Multiple times.”

I think, since we’ve had some distance, that he’s figured more things out. And I think part of all this energy is guilt. 

“I did. I’m happy.” I don’t want that. I mean, I wish he’d paid a little more attention earlier… No. Al is still good He’s a good thing in my life. “You and Gil are going to get along.”

Damnit, they are too. And well. I love Alfred and Gil… Gil is growing on me. Now that Alfred is really here though, the reality of their interaction is an unavoidable thing. I sigh. I suppose the excitement will be good for me. 

“But, Mattie, seriously, if you really didn’t want to be—”

“Stop trying to distract me, Al. Aren’t you seeing anyone?” I just can’t do this with you, alright, buddy? I don’t want to go through this again, let me just have you as you. 

He blinks. “What?”

“Don’t tell me that you can’t get a single date without my help!”

“Hey!” He licks his lips. “I don’t need your help.”

“Then are dating someone?”

“No… but I’m busy! I’m sooo busy! I’m going to Russia! I have a real career!”

Oh, ouch, bro. “Mmm-hmm.”

“MATT!”

He’s always been so easy for me to distract. I know exactly how to push buttons. 

“No one left trying to use you to get to me, whoops.” I say.

He kicks my chair. 

“No defense to that?” I tsk.

“I’ve talked a lot!” He huffs. “You’ve said like… nothing about you.”

“Well, the first week was my honeymoon—”

“Ahhhhh! Nonono. Mattie. No. Nevermind.”

“But, Al! You said you wanted to know about me and you—”

“Matt! Talk about  _ anything  _ else!”

“BUT YOU ALWAYS LOVE TO HEAR ABOUT MY SEX LIFE!”

“I DO NOT!!”

“AL, HE WEARS LEATHER PANTS FOR ME!!!!”

“Oh Go—Matt. Stop.”

“You know I love leather~”

And, of course, the moment I say this I see Gilbert standing the door. I turn scarlet. Alfred spins around.

“I custom bought those leather pants.” Gilbert says without missing a beat. “Lace-up crotch.” 

Not sure if I want to die or kiss him… he winks at me. I don’t think he’s kidding about the pants. 

“Spanish leather.”

He’s not kidding.

“Uh…” And my poor baby brother can tell. “Hi?”

“You’re Alfred.” Not, you must be Alfred, or, Are you Alfred. No. Gilbert identifies my brother with that military precision that sets him far apart from Papa’s charm. 

“Yeah. You’re Gilbert.”

Gilbert walks over to me. I swear to you, they size each other up in a way that I do not remember happening at my wedding. I knew this would happen. I knew this was inevitable.

“I’m his brother.” Alfred forgets the baby before brother every time. 

“And I’m his husband.” 

“And I love you both!” I jump up, trying to circumvent this meeting of egos with friendliness. “Let’s do something! Together! Alfred has never been to Germany! Why don’t we do something? Gilbert? Something German?”

Gilbert raises a brow and we can all hear his implied joke but, “Okay.” And they went off. Alfred is always really charmed by other countries, even if his comments tend to be naïve. I am both pleased and horrified that Gilbert and Alfred seem so alike. 

My brother and my husband share a boisterous love of life, complimenting each other in maturity. I have the feeling, however, that they’d get into more trouble than it would ever be worth to leave them alone together. 

Spending a day between them is… admittedly exhausting. When we get home I’m ready to stop. But this kind of tired feels more natural than the severe anxiety hanging around others used to impose. Of course, that hasn’t disappeared, but I still managed to have fun. Not so many dark clouds. 

Al and Gil rush inside and pull out our Wii and Wii fit board, as was talked about on the drive. I could afford for someone else to make dinner for me tonight, but what fun would that be? And it separates me a bit from whatever madness the high-octane game of Wii Sports will spawn. I ignore all crashing sounds. Any time consulted I will side only with Alfred. That gets Gil all in a tizzy.

I set up three places at the end of the table and serve the food, calling my boys from whatever fight they’d started. Al won’t be staying more than a few days, so after dinner I stay up late with him. We talk in hushed tones late into the night, like we used to do when we were children. 

For Alfred, I have always been the perfect older brother. Even when I hurt or went numb, maybe because of those things, I put him before myself. It’s part of the way that I cope. Seeing him all grown up now, nervous, and excited to become a man, I can forgive him that pain. I can forgive him the selfishness I tried not to let him know he had. 

When Alfred finally falls asleep, I exit on tip-toes, making sure to gently shut the door before heading towards my room. 

“Hey.” 

I jump probably a foot and spin around to face a door that I didn’t know was open. 

“Gil! You’re still up!” I press a hand to my heart. “Geez…”

“Yeah.” He pats the bed next to him. I enter, shutting the door behind me, and sit down. He gives me a devilish grin. 

“So, you love me?”

Wait. What?

“Earlier. You said you loved us both. That means you love me.”

I search his face while considering my options. “Uh… it’s Stockholm Syndrome.”

His smile evaporates. Bingo. 

“What? That’s not fair! You’re the one who insisted on staying! I gave you so many chances to go—oh, you’re laughing.”

I am.

“You punk! You tiny little—come here!” He tackles me onto the bed and tickles me. “Our imaginary sex life is going on hold!” 

I try to kick him off but he pins me with an, honestly, insulting amount of effort. He leans in. 

“Speaking of imaginary sex lives. Leather, huh?”

I turn red. That devilish grin is back. 

“Are you kinky, Matt?”

I blow on his face. “Maybe.”

“That is a  _ yes _ !” He sits up in triumph.

“I’m no virgin, you know.” I put my hands behind my head, causal.

“Just whoring yourself out to anyone but me?’

“Yup. You caught me.” I hit him in his stupid rock-hard stomach. “Sorry for trying to build a real relationship on something other than physical attraction.”

“That is overrated.” He gets off me and flops down next to me. “Are you spending the night again?”

“Mmmhmm.” Since he’s still up. We’ve been getting into he habit of sharing a bed. “But we are not sleeping together for the first time with Alfred here.”

“Damn. Not into that.”

“Shut up.” I roll over and let him pull me against his chest. “You know you can’t wake up at 5 am, it’s too late.”

“Watch me.” 

I groan, but nuzzle into his shoulder. He gently rubs my arm. He takes care of me like I’ve always felt I needed to take care of Alfred. 

“And… I love you too.” He kisses my head. “Just so you know.”

I wrap my arms around him and hold on tight.

 

♥♥♥♥

 

You never realize how much sexual tension is in a house until you introduce a third person. I’ve never felt more like I wanted to take the next step with Gilbert than when I suddenly couldn’t. I wanted to just grab Gilbert and kiss him but there was Alfred. And I mean, I’d definitely always felt physically attracted to Gilbert, so now that I wanted more… Alfred. 

I felt so bad for wanting him gone after waiting for him for five weeks. Maybe this was good: breaking the dependency I didn’t realize was so deep. So, when I finally sent my brother off with lunch, hugs, and kisses, I felt this great weight lifting. Not only was Alfred tiring combined with Gilbert but—

I kiss Gilbert first thing, 

“Gil—”

“I will find the leather pants.”

“Give me some time alone. And… yes.”

He’s giving me such a look. It’s hard to believe that anyone would ever look at me with such a desire. 

“Please find the pants.”

He whoops and high-fives me. I shake my head. How juvenile. No one should be this excited for just… me. Still. I’m glad he is. I want him too.

I spend most of the day Alfred leaves alone in my room. I had a hard time handling just one of them at a time, and this kind of alone time is refreshing. Maybe you know how that is… I just didn’t want to perform poorly for Gilbert because he was accidentally annoying me. Even when I felt desperate, I could be patient. I like that think that makes me pretty dangerous. 

Around dinner time I venture downstairs for a meal with my husband. I try to be coy but it’s clear that we both know exactly what’s up. I spend time eating and deflecting Gilbert’s looks, his innuendos. This gets harder to do the more I imagine his bare chest and thighs, something I’d been trying not to do while alone… 

By the time we finish dinner I can’t hold out to clean up, Gil moves to pick me up. He carries me over his shoulder to his—to our—bedroom. When he throws me onto the bed I feel a thrill run down my spine, a pleasant warmth blossoming in my lower body. I almost forgot how much I like this feeling. Almost. Not quite. 

Gilbert strips in front of me, muscle flexing just under his skin with every careful movement. I trace his scars and tattoos with my eyes, aching to do the same with my fingers. Once he’s fully bared, a long and sensual process, he studies me.  

“C’mon. Don’t want to leave me embarrassed.”

He’s joking around… he could never be embarrassed. He looks like some kind of Greek god carved in white marble. For some insane reason, maybe because I’m not thinking straight, his words make me think of this scene from an anime…. This must show on my face because Gilbert raises an eyebrow. 

“What?” He’s teasing. 

“You just sound like… Asuna.”

“What?” Confused, this time.

“It’s this anime, Sword Art—nevermind.” 

“An anime?!” He puts his hands on his hips, giving me a nice view. “You’re thinking about an anime?! Looking at  _ this _ ?! My awesome body??”

I don’t know how to respond. I just lick my lips, and shrug. He throws his head back in a laugh. I sit up. When his head snaps back his eyes focus on me with a look that is… predatory. 

“Let me focus you.” He growls.

Before I can protest he pounces. Very literally. Truthfully, I am open to an aggressive approach. I doubt Gil has read into that. He strips me down before taking a moment to study me. 

“Beautiful.” He mutters. “Just… beautiful.”

“Gil…” 

He kisses me. I let my fingers map out his body, becoming familiar with every perfection and every mistake. Unlike other nights, hot and desperate nights marked by comfortable anonymity, I am laying my claim. This is not just some body to use for my pleasure. This is mine. This is my soul. 

Gilbert takes charge, he guides my hands and my mouth across his chest and down, down—No one else has ever been so kind to me as this man has. I know he has nothing to gain here, just me, Just a husband with too many issues. HE would have been better off without me but he chose…

Our bodies meld together in our attempt to be closer, to understand better. This is no one night stand. This is a promise. For once I am not looking for just another emotional high, but trying to make my lover feel good. I really feel like I’m Gil’s equal. I feel like we’re really married. 

When we’re done, and I know my stamina has thoroughly impressed, he takes me into his arms and holds me tight. 

“I’m so lucky.” I mutter into his neck.

“Lucky?” Gil kisses my head. “Not really.”

“Mmm?”

“Francis is, no joke, an excellent match maker.”

I groan. Gil kisses my forehead. 

“I know.” I sigh. “I know.”

“But he did go about it all wrong.”

“Well I know that too.”

I am bitter about how freaking right Papa was. About this marriage. About… a lot of things. Not about Gilbert. In fact, I’m sure Papa wasn’t counting on my new husband becoming my refugee from  _ him _ . And, of course, being right about something doesn’t automatically make you worthy of forgiveness…

“So… we are going to do this again?” 

He sounds unsure. That’s cute. He has most definitely satisfied and… I’m the one who needs him in this relationship. 

“Yeah… I mean, yeah.”

“No dick jokes?” Gil jokes. 

“Not until our one year anniversary.” I nuzzle him.

“One year?”

I smile. “One year.”

“We’re staying together that long?”

I hesitate. “Forever.”

Gil takes that in. the he squeezes me. “Hey, Matt?”

“Mmmm?”

“Wanna get married?”

 

♥♥♥♥

 

[Epilogue]

“Alfred’s fiancée scares me.” Gilbert leans in to tell me. “And I don’t say that lightly.”

I gently swat at him. It’s been two years since Gil and I got officially remarried. By my choice. In a proper suit. And today we were gathered to do the same thing for baby Alfred.

“You’re only saying she’s scary because you don’t like that she’s taller than you.” I tell him.

“Hmm, no, actually, I’m saying it because I recognize Russian prison tattoos.” 

“She seems nice.” I tuck my arm into his. 

“Babe. Look at her. She has a scar like someone slit her throat. And she recovered.”

“Well, that’s not  _ her _ fault.” I’m grinning. 

Gil just shakes his head. “And I thought I was crazy. Alfred is something else. That kid.”

Oh, he really is. I honestly had a pretty clear idea of what kind of person would woo my Alfie. Anya Braginski was… well, not that person. In fact, I’d never even imagined  _ anyone _ like Anya. Unlike me, Alfred did not marry rich. At least that was something I’d called. 

“Bonjour, bonjour, mon petit chou!”

I turn and greet Papa with kisses. Although still tense, our relationship has made great strides in the past few years. Gilbert was a wonderful middle man. That, and papa had pretty much begged me. He really was trying to change for us. His reaction to Anya proved that to me. 

“How are your classes?” Papa asks. 

I smile. “Wonderful. Gil’s looking for jobs when I graduate already.”

Shortly after I remarried my husband, I enrolled in a culinary school. Therapy and dates did not keep my sufficiently entertained, unfortunately, and I knew exactly what I wanted to do for a living. Arthur materializes besides Papa.

“We should find seats. We’re not groom’s men.” He tells Papa, reaching out to gently pat my shoulder. We had something of a truce going as well, and not without its own set of apologies. Arthur claimed he never knew. 

“Okay, you’re right. Love?” I look up to my husband and we join Alfred’s other friends. The wedding is bright and colorful. Just like Alfred. 

It is a bit of an odd picture: Anaya in her wedding dress, muscular and sleeved arms prominent, her pale hands making Alfred’s dark ones look almost delicate. But there is love in Alfred’s sky-blue eyes as they look up—yes, up—into hers and that makes everything perfect. I know, the second time around, that’s how I looked at my husband.

We dance and eat and pointedly avoid asking Alfred’s new wife how she’s tied to the KGB. I spend most of the night, like most nights now, in Gilbert’s arms, and I can barely recall what it is to be alone. I think about Antonio and the warm smile I’ve gotten used to, and Feliciano blatantly flirting with Ludwig, about papa and his husband and how empty the house must be now. Tonight, I even recall the razor that used to hide under my mattress… I think about how I feel, some nights, like I might still need it. And about how those nights are fading. 

“Hey, what are you thinking about?”

I focus on Gilbert. “Hmm?”

“You’re smiling like an idiot. Why? Something I said?”

“Just… thinking about how lucky I am. That’s it.”

Lucky enough to believe in happy endings.  


End file.
